


The Assassin's Guide to Dating

by scribblemyname



Series: Be Compromised 2014 Promptathon [17]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coffee, Community: be_compromised, F/M, First Date, Fluff, Natasha Romanov Early Days at SHIELD, People-Watching, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Training, late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/scribblemyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a date and he's late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Assassin's Guide to Dating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sgteam14283](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgteam14283/gifts).



> Prompt by sgteam14283: [Clint shows up 15 minutes late with Starbucks.](http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/412023.html?thread=7774839#t7774839)

"So…"

Maria's voice caused Natasha to slow her pace until her friend could draw level with her.

Maria's hands were full of too much paperwork as usual, and she had that furrowed line between her brows that suggested she had slept no longer than a couple of hours. She flashed a smile at Natasha. "Coffee?"

They had settled into something of a rhythm lately. Maria hauled Natasha out of the gym for breakfast after four to six hours of training, and Natasha gave Maria an excuse to get coffee at eleven when the first few doses ran out.

This morning though…

"Clint asked me to go people-watching with him." Natasha shrugged. "He claims he needs help reading a crowd."

 _'Claims'_ was about the right word too. Clint wasn't called Hawkeye solely because of his home state; the man missed little, including the little ticks and tells that gave him a good feel for people. It's why he made another call when his assignment was Natasha.

Maria just raised her eyebrows. "Wouldn't want to interrupt that," she commented wryly.

Natasha paused, one foot still midair. "What do you mean?"

"It's nice to see you on a date is all." Maria flipped through a file. "Clint's a good choice. I'll see you later."

Natasha opened her mouth to interrogate further, but Maria had already disappeared back in the direction of the gaping maw of her office.

Training wasn't a date. It couldn't be.

—

"It's a date," Sharon informed her emphatically. "Clint does not go people-watching for the fun of it, and you're not on a mission."

"Training. It's _training_ for a mission," Natasha stressed yet again as she hovered over Sharon's desk.

"Fine. Sure." Sharon gave her the unconvinced, unmoving _look_. "And he just normally decides to haul his sorry self out of bed on a Sunday morning before noon without prompting to come in and train two days after you got back from a mission."

Natasha frowned. A valid point.

"This is Clint. If Fury didn't say, 'be in here this Sunday' and it's not a range, then there's no way I'm buying that he's not coming for the company."

—

They were partners. Of course, they enjoyed each other's company. Right?

—

Natasha opted to get a third opinion before she showed up at their designated rendezvous with the wrong impression.

Melinda just grinned at her and ordered, "Details. As soon as you get back, I want to know _everything_."

If that wasn't disturbing, Natasha really didn't know what was.

—

She showed up at the park bench and waited for Clint. And waited. _And waited_.

She checked her watch. It was a date and he was late. It had taken Natasha three people and two hours she could have devoted to training in the gym to confirm that Clint's invitation to share coffee over early morning people-watching was indeed a date, and he was late. She had never in her entire life before ever been on a date, and he was fifteen minutes late.

Natasha was not pleased.

Then there he was with those puppy dog eyes and that endearing grin and it was the most infuriating expression he could have worn at that moment because she wanted to be upset at him for being late to her first date with anyone ever and instead she was letting that tiny smile he kept provoking curve her lips upward as she watched her partner and friend jog over easily and pass her a steaming cup.

"Sorry I'm late, but I brought Starbucks."

She sipped her coffee and looked out at the park. "You owe me baklava."

Clint sighed and muttered, "Always the baklava."

Not just baklava. Natasha may have decided not to take his tardiness out of his hide, but she picked the worst marks to practice on and went for the types she'd heard him complain were hardest.

—

"Taskmaster," he muttered after the third athletic grandmother type. "They aren't our typical demographic, Nat."

"You should never assume who is an innocent bystander," she replied coolly and sipped her coffee.

"She's just out for a jog."

Natasha tilted her head, assessing, and decided he was right. This time. "How about the brunette across the park."

A wistful little daydreamer with school books and a petite figure and young-looking eyes. Natasha pegged her for high school.

Clint narrowed his eyes slightly as he drank from his own espresso, then nodded, then grinned. "She's an archer. I'm going over there."

Natasha stared, flabberghasted. "An archer?"

"I'll prove it." He went over and introduced himself and her and asked what kind of bow the girl preferred.

The girl, Kate Bishop, liked a recurve.

Natasha wasn't sure whether to smack the man or strangle him.

—

"Clint," she said on the way back to SHIELD headquarters as she handed him her empty cup.

He launched both cups into a trashcan on the corner of the street about fifty feet away. Perfect shot, as usual. "Natasha."

"Could you help me with my aim this afternoon?"

Clint gave her a sharp look. "You're a great shot."

She rolled her eyes. "Not with a gun." She really didn't need help her with her aim though, and she decided to treat this the American way apparently every other female SHIELD agent took for granted.

"Oh." He followed her gesture toward the trashcan with her eyes. "Sure. I'll bring baklava."

—

"And?" Melinda pounced as soon as she could snatch Natasha away under some pretext neither Clint nor Natasha believed for a second.

"We watched people," Natasha told her. "We _trained_."

Melinda just gave her a look. "So when are you doing it again?"

Natasha rolled her eyes but admitted, "Lunch. He's bringing baklava."

"He has declared his undying love," Melinda informed her bluntly. "I called it first."

Everyone knew Clint didn't like sharing the baklava their cafeteria queen made for him, but that was hardly the reason Natasha was inclined to agree. He really didn't need any help with his people-watching—at all.


End file.
